


And Then There Is Darkness

by thatoneauthor23



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood and Violence, Captivity, Character Death, Dark, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Past Character Death, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rohan, Saruman wins, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, The Two Towers, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, What-If, Wormtongue and Éowyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26676805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneauthor23/pseuds/thatoneauthor23
Summary: Rohan has fallen. Theoden is dead. Saruman has won.Wormtongue collects his long awaited reward: Éowyn.TW: Rape, Captivity, Suicide.
Relationships: Éowyn/Gríma Wormtongue
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	And Then There Is Darkness

**AND THEN THERE IS DARKNESS**

Darkness.

Éowyn’s best friend and worst enemy. In darkness she could hide from that world that tried to restrain her. She cried often, but never while other people were there. She cried for her parents, her cousin and her ostracised brother, she shed a tear for her decaying uncle.

But if darkness was comforting, it also terrified her. Because that’s where _he_ would always find her. At first, she hadn’t been scared of him. She knew how to defend herself and if that wasn’t enough Eomer, Theodred or even her uncle would never have allowed him to lay a finger on her, however that didn’t matter anymore, as they had all abandoned her: her brother was in exile, her cousin was gone and king Theoden spent his days sat on his cold throne, looking more like a corpse than a living and breathing being, as the man that was populating her worst nightmares gently poured poison in his ears and heart.

In darkness he would lightly graze her and whisper things that made her shiver, regardless of how innocent his words might have sounded. Slowly but steadily, he was making the walls she had so carefully built over the years to keep him away crumble. 

She tried to hold her head high, not to show any sign of weakness when presented with his insolence, but every day was becoming harder and harder, and Éowyn was aware that she would eventually crack, and that would be the end of her. 

That day, darkness felt different, more threatening, less natural… and it began with the dreadful news that the city’s walls had been broken through and an army of orcs showing the White Hand was advancing, leaving unparallel death and destruction behind. 

The messenger, Hamish, had informed her first, as she was the only living member of the Rohan’s royal family left. Éowyn dismissed him and left his with one single order: evacuate as many people as possible from the palace. Then, she headed to the throne room. 

Her uncle was helplessly sat on his throne, covered in a large dark coat, his snowy white hair falling on his shoulders. Just a few months earlier, Theoden wouldn’t have looked older than forty-five, and now it seemed as if he had lived through entire centuries. 

Approaching him, Éowyn immediately noticed that something wasn’t right… his breath, usually soft but steady, didn’t appear to be there at all. His chest was heavily still.  
She prayed that she was mistaken, walking the last steps that separated herself and the king. 

No. She was not mistaken. Her hand gently brushed his ice-cold skin. He must have died in complete silence. Such an unworthy death for the king of the Rohirrim.  
In that moment, Éowyn realised that it truly was over, once and for all. Sauron and Saruman had prevailed over the kingdom of Rohan. 

She fell on her knees, defeated. If only her brother had been in her place... he would have known how to act, he was a born leader and would have been able to rally his best men to face the imminent threat, while she was just a woman, a royal for sure, but just a woman that no knight would ever listen to. She was ready to lay down on the gelid floor, in the room where her ancestors had prospered. Their dynasty would have finally come to an end on that fatal day, when the powers of Mordor had triumphed. 

But then, her father’s face appeared before her eyes. Eomund had been a proud man, a great fearless warrior that had been able to win the heart of the princess of Meduseld over. He would never have surrendered when facing an army of useless orcs! She was his daughter, a woman for sure, but she knew how to fight, almost as well as her brother fought, and the people of Rohan were looking up to her. 

She could not stay there, crying like a youngling, she had to stand up and battle for her people, or she would have died trying. She stood up, ready to look for the Rohirrim left to reorganize as she had seen Eomer do many times, when the throne room’s door swung open. 

A group of orcs, hideous under their helms, burst in and started roaming around the hall, stepping on the lifeless body of the two guards at their feet. 

Quickly, Éowyn thought of the sword that his uncle used to always by his side, hidden in his cloak, and she reached for it, blindly searching between the cresses of the fabric until she ended up caressing the cold and round knob. She unsheathed it and tested it silently for a few seconds: it was much heavier than the blades she was used, but she had to make do with it.  
She spun it a couple of times, balancing her weight on her right leg, placed forward. For a few moments the orcs, she counted fourteen in total, stared at her with a mix of disbelief and amusement in their eyes, then they dashed forward, gnarling at her. 

Fighting while wearing a gown and her hair down was not easy at all, she thought to herself as she fought, but she still managed to kill three orcs and fatally injure another one, stabbing his left eye with a swift hit. At first the sight of blood had made her sick, she had felt her insides clenching but she had pushed back and now killing was giving her a strange triumphant sensation.  
One by one, the enemies perished by king Theoden’s sword, and Éowyn started shouting and moving quicker, thrilled by the smell of blood and sweat. 

She almost didn’t notice the arrow that was shot at her shoulder blade, without piercing her flesh completely but leaving a deep wound. She let out a cry of pain and ripped the out of her shoulder, carrying on her battle as her white gown turned red. If anyone in the palace of Meduseld had been there at that time, they would had sworn that it was Eomer who was fighting all those monstrosities, and not his younger sister. 

Nine orcs had now died, and everything started to move slowly before she realised that the other five had stopped, still holding their weapons.  
“Well well well” someone hissed behind her back, that same voice that tormented her in the dark. “Who would have ever thought… the princess is a real warrior… almost equal to her brother and cousin”. 

Éowyn froze, involuntarily dropping her sword on the floor with a loud clang. She didn’t dare to turn around, she was too scared of what she would find before her eyes. She tried to convince herself that it was a nightmare and that she would wake up in her bed, terrified but safe. However, the sting of pain in her shoulder, a hundred times worse since the adrenaline of the battle had worn off, reminded her that it was all too real. 

“Maybe she’d like to end up like her loved ones” continued the voice, now closer and softer, as a whisper right next to her ear. “Isn’t that so, Éowyn?” he remarked, as a cold blade pushed against her throat, leaving her breathless. An arm gabbed her waist in a strong grip. 

She knew who that arm belonged to. She tried to look at him out of the corner of her eye but all she could see was a black cloak and a glimpse of long, dark hair. It was enough for her to realise that she had not hope and her worse fears were about to come true. 

He gently pushed her towards the door that looked up on the entire city, still holding her close to his body. His breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine. Judging from the metallic sound that broke the tense silence, the orcs were following behind them. 

Outside of the entrance of the palace, the survivors of the attack stood defeated; men, women and children scared to death, some of them were wounded, some others were crying. They were waiting to know their fate. 

A single gasp left the crowd as princess Éowyn, their last hope, appeared before them. She was bleeding and was held hostage by the enemy. Someone started weeping, as they knew Rohan was lost. 

He addressed the people, his mouth still very close to Éowyn’s earlobe. He didn’t need to shout, a heavy, sad quietness surrounded them. 

“People of Rohan” he announced solemnly: “King Theoden is dead. His son Theodred is dead. Prince Eomer, second in line to the throne, is dead”. _No!_ She screamed in her own mind, refusing to believe that her brother had passed. He couldn’t… it wasn’t possible… not… no. “And we now hold the last descendant of the Horse-lords hostage. So, this is what my lords Sauron and Saruman are offering: surrender, and your life will be spared. Fight Mordor and you will die. We don’t want your blood, we wouldn’t know what to do with it, but we have to know that if the enemies’ forces come, you will not join them. Respect this oath, and no one will suffer”. 

Everyone was staring deeply at her, and she knew she couldn’t hold their gaze. She was at his mercy, unharmed and helpless. She saw the faces of the children she had rescued a few days prior and for a moment she contemplated the idea of fighting right then and there, so they would kill her, and she wouldn’t have to look at those scared, disheartened expressions any longer. But a suicide could not help her people.

No one had the courage to speak up and the orcs created a passage among the folk left. He forced her to walk down that passage, among the citizens.

She was tied up and placed on a black horse’s back, which he then mounted himself. They rode towards North, leaving Meduseld. 

It took them two full days to reach their destination. On the first night, Éowyn was taken inside a tent and left there alone. Her legs were sore after the ride and she immediately fell to her knees.  
She lied awake throughout the night, terrified that he would come inside to do anything to her… but that didn’t happen. 

In fact, he barely spoke to her at all, despite they were sharing the black stallion, and when he did it was mostly to give her orders. He constantly observed her, just like he did back at the palace. However, when they were in Meduseld he had to be more discreet, at least until Eomer and Theodred had been there, while now he looked at her more lustfully, his eyes indulging in parts of her body Éowyn preferred would go unnoticed. 

Two days later a tall, dark and menacing tower appeared in front of them and got only closer and closer as the horses covered the distance at an impressive speed. 

“Welcome to Isengard” he hissed. “The Wizard is looking forward to meeting you”. 

As soon as she was forced to dismount the horse she was taken inside, in the largest and barest room she had ever seen: four walls, black as coal and nothing else but a small stone altar where a sphere made of what looked like opaque glass was laid. 

Studying it, there was a tall slim man, dressed completely in white robes, as his long hair and beard were white too. He held a long staff in his hands, and that made her realise that before her stood the wizard, Saruman the White. 

The wizard turned around with a serious expression when he heard their steps inside the hall, but as soon as his eyes met Éowyn’s, his lips curled in a slight smile that showed no warmth or kindness. 

“Princess Éowyn” he welcomed her “Welcome to the tower of Orthanc, it’s a pleasure to meet you after hearing so much about you”. 

She did not respond and just stared at the floor, unable to come up with a coherent thought. For the second time in the past few days, she wished to be dead. 

“I hope your stay here will be of your liking. Now forgive me, princess, but I have to discuss some things with Grima. I will have you escorted to your quarters immediately”.  
An orc appeared by her side and tugged at her arm, leading her out of the room, leaving Saruman and her captor alone. 

What the wizard had called “quarters” could very well be considered a prison cell: a small space, lit solely by a tiny window that could barely fit the leg of a grown man. A small bed covered by a dirty blanket and a chamber pot were the only decorations. 

Darkness was surrounding her.

That night, he paid her a visit. His dark little eyes shined with a malevolent light when he appeared on the doorstep, flashing her a triumphant smile that made her blood run cold. 

“Good evening, my dear” he saluted. Éowyn did not respond and curled up on the thin mattress, praying once again that what was happening was nothing but a nightmare, that he would disappear and leave her alone once and for all. 

“I hope the chamber is of your liking, milady, as you will be spending some time here. At least until the Lord of Mordor won’t conquer Middle Earth, then he will grant me a castle and we will move there together. But for the time being, we will have to make do with what we have”. 

Éowyn kept her gaze on the wall in front of her. She was trying to maintain her dignity, but inside she was trembling like a scared animal. She heard him move behind her back, slyly getting closer and closer like a predator… like he used to do in Rohan. He probably had not realised yet that there were no uncles, cousins or brothers to protect her there. 

_Please, let it be quick_ she quietly prayed, feeling a pang of shame for giving up on anything except the hope that she would not feel too much pain as he completely humiliated her.  
Surprisingly his hands, strangely soft and delicate, did not tear off the dirty rags that were covering her body, but they grazed over her shoulder, causing a sharp pain where she had been hit by the orc in the throne room. 

“I will fetch a healer to come and take care of this” he murmured before leaving her alone in her cell, mouth agape and a sense of relief washing over her. 

The days passed and Éowyn could only tell them apart thanks to the small dents she would carve into the cold wall every time the sun disappeared from her window, leaving her in the dark. Not that the sun really shined at Isengard.

The healer was a man named Gronn, who would visit her daily, cleaning her would and changing the bandages. On the other hand, Wormtongue had disappeared, he was probably conquering or destroying some village in the name of Saruman. 

Éowyn was well aware that if she stayed there, she would go mad. She had never been completely comfortable in enclosed spaces, even at Meduseld, that had always been her home; but constrained within those walls, with no one to talk to, she was to lose her mind. 

And right when she thought she could not bear this anymore, Wormtongue came back just as he had left. Although she would never admit it, she was almost glad to see him, to have someone real before her except for Gronn, who worked silently and without giving her a smile or even a look. 

When the man walked into the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him, Éowyn sat on the bed, forcing her features into an expression of dread rather than one of relief. 

“Milady” he greeted her without moving. She replied with a cold glance. “I’m delighted to see that you are recovering so quickly. From what I can see, the wound has almost healed”. She nodded, without saying a word. Of course, it was pleasant to hear another human being’s voice, but that human was still the main cause of her family and reign’s disgrace, she did not feel any tenderness towards him. 

“I have been to Meduseld, my lady. Everything is ready for our return” he explained, as if she already knew what he was talking about. 

“What?”. The words escaped her before she could hold them back. 

He smiled at her, showing his yellowing teeth. “Our return to the palace, as king and queen of Rohan. My lord is not a fool, he recognises that without their beloved rulers, the people will riot. And although the line to the throne has gotten drastically thinner as of late, one last heir to king Theoden’s kingdom is still alive: you. But of course, you cannot rule alone. I will marry you and become king of Rohan, at the service of the White Witch. Mordor will acquire a permanent ally and I will acquire power, wealth… and a wife”. As he was talking, he had approached her and now his face was a mere few inches away from hers. 

She felt nauseous, but still forced herself to appear calm and glacial. “What makes you think I will accept?” she asked, holding his gaze. Her deep blue eyes stared into his grey ones. 

“But my dear” he grinned maliciously. “Your consent does not matter, I thought that was clear from the beginning” and he stretched towards her, placing his lips upon hers. 

A wave of repulsion hit her for the few seconds that he kissed her, before being hit by a loud slap that made him step back. 

Unfazed, Wormtongue slapped her back and she lost her balance, falling with her back on the mattress. 

“Maybe it’s not evident yet, _my dear_ ” he spit, looking down at her. “But we are not at the palace anymore. Eomer and Theodred are not here to protect you. We are alone, and you are my prisoner. So, you will do what I say”. 

Éowyn threw a hostile glance at him through her messy locks but did not dare to respond. 

She waited for him to leave, then the tears started running down her cheeks against her will. She would have rather died. The idea to betray her people made her skin crawl. She had been taught to be loyal, and now she was about to do the opposite than what the people who had died to protected her had sworn to do. And the worst part of it was that Wormtongue was right: at Orthanc se was not a princess, constantly guarded by her family who were willing to kill for her, she was just a prisoner. And she had no choice. 

Suddenly, her mother’s death seemed appealing. Theodwyn had locked herself in her quarters after her husband’s death and had refused to come out since. She had not touched any food, until she became so weak and then passed altogether. Perhaps she could do the same, she could pretend to eat the three meals the guards gave her, and she would escape her fate. 

Yes, she could do it. 

Two weeks had passed since she had last eaten. Éowyn didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed. Wormtongue had noticed the changes in her body, because he gave the order to double the portions of food, but it was all for nothing. The bread she was given was consumed by the mice, as she refused to touch it. 

She struggled to stay awake, her plan was reaching its completion. She was ready to leave this world, when one morning she felt her back leaving the mattress beneath it. For a moment, she thought it was her spirit had finally left her carcass and that death had finally taken her, but then she saw a familiar head of black hair and realised she would live. 

She was force fed a strange bitter paste every day and was placed under special surveillance in every waking moment, until her strength came back. 

On one of the first days after her plan was foiled, Wormtongue burst into her cell. He was furious. He had shouted at her, insulted her even, but Éowyn had barely noticed, staring distractingly at the raging man without really hearing his words.

It took her two months to completely recover, and the wedding, that had to take place few weeks after the start of her suicidal scheme, delayed. 

This did not bring a real advantage for her, as Wormtongue now visited her every day. He had made a habit of kissing her every time he desired to, and his hands had begun to roam her frame more and more, although without violating any area she was truly worried about. 

Then on evening, as he was gently caressing her hair in what would have been a loving gesture, had it not been carried out by such a dreadful man, she asked: “Why me?”. 

“What?” he replied, taken aback. 

“I know I am a princess. But I believe my rank did not really matter to you when my uncle was alive. I remember so many young women that would have given up their lives to get into your favour, as you were the king’s chief advisor. You wouldn’t spare but a glance for them… so why me? What do I have that is so special, although it is obvious that I am repulsed by your sight?”. 

“You said it yourself” he breathed. Éowyn gave him a puzzled look. “Because those women were willing to do anything to get into my bed, but not for love. They wanted wealth and my favours. You would never look at me, yet you are mistaken before I destroyed your family you did not despise me. In fact, you were the only one who didn’t. That’s what made you so desirable, other than your extraordinary beauty”. 

He spoke slowly, but for once his words did not sound like lies. “The more I realised I could never own you, the more I yearned for you. You became an obsession. I followed you, I watched you. You are the reason why I betrayed Rohan: I viewed your family as the only thing keeping us apart. If you didn’t have your uncle checking over you, you would finally notice me, or so I thought. And despite the fact that I know that you will never love me, you will be mine and that is enough”. 

Éowyn was left bewildered by his speech. “You… you did all of this… for me?”. 

Wormtongue nodded, still staring at her attentively. 

“You are a fool!” she declared coldly, standing up sharply. “A fool and a snake. You have shattered my happiness in my name, for your own whim. You may own my body, but my mind, my heart and my soul will never belong to you”. 

She looked so fierce in that moment, the princess rising from the ashes of the prisoner, with a new energy that he feared. He thought that he had finally broken her, but that was just the calm before thee storm. That girl would give him a hard time. 

Grima Wormtongue left without a word. 

A servant appeared on her doorstep on a warm morning, and Éowyn immediately understood that the dire moment had come. 

She was brought to a washroom, where she was bathed and perfumed. She was made to wear a simple white gown, tight around her waist and breasts; her hair was styled in an elegant braid and a small crown of snowy flowers was placed upon her head - she wondered how such a pure thing did not rot inside those dark walls. 

A pair of orcs escorted her to the first place she had set foot in Orthanc: the big, empty hall where Saruman and Wormtongue were now standing side by side. The former looked majestic in his white robe, supporting himself on his elegant, great staff although his expression was everything but benign; the latter appeared as he always did, his jet-black hair greasy and his face pale. 

Her legs felt as if they were moving by themselves as she walked towards them. When the time to drink from the same cup, a traditional symbol of their union, came, she took a single sip of the wine that burned down her throat, making her eyes watery and sending a shiver down her spine. “Éowyn daughter of Eomund, from this day until the end of your life you are tied to Grima son of Graìm, he will be your husband and you will respect and serve him, offering him your love and your loyalty until death won’t fall upon you both”. 

As a child she had imagined her wedding in a completely different way: at Meduseld, with a merry ceremony with music and laughter. Surrounded by her family, her uncle officiating and with a husband she had chosen for herself, perhaps a brave strong warrior like Eomer. What she was living through was a nightmare she had never even conceived as possible, especially with a man such as Wormtongue by her side. 

The ride back to Meduseld felt much quicker than it had months before, when she had been taken to Isengard. Her _husband_ decided not to touch her for the two nights of the journey. No, that monster was planning to take her innocence inside the friendly walls of her own home, where she had once felt safe. He wanted to humiliate her completely. 

When they finally arrived, Éowyn was once again forced to walk among her people, destroyed and at the orcs’ mercy. Many buildings had been burned down to ashes, a few streets had been ruined, some people had been hurt… the age of the men of Rohan had reached its end under the reign of a weak queen trapped by a darkness that was too powerful for her. 

She was led to the royal quarters, where many generations of monarchs had laid to rest. Now it was her quarters. 

And his. 

As if she had called for him, Wormtongue appeared on the doorstep of the large circular room. His breath was slightly more shaken than usual, the only thought of what was about to happen visibly excited him. He strode towards her and took a few moments to observe her, to caress her golden hair and her fair skin. Then he grasped the back of her head and violently pulled her to himself, kissing her voluptuously, making her feel sick. 

She sensed his hands bustling with her gown’s strings, yet she did nothing to stop him despite the idea of what he wanted to do made her want to vomit. However, any form of rebellion from her would have resulted in him threatening her people, and their safety and wellbeing had to come before hers. 

Therefore, she let him undress her, kiss her, touch her. He then proceeded to remove his own clothes and lie on top of her, taking that small ounce of dignity she had left away with every thrust inside her. She did not dare to move, nor to speak. All was lost. 

Many weeks passed, Wormtongue kept claiming what she owed him every night, and every day Éowyn would roam around the palace, paler and more emaciated than ever, like a ghost. She had stopped smiling, talking, _thinking_. She ate and drank because she was forced to, she didn’t sleep much and her dreams were tormented by images of his brother holding her in a tight embrace, but soon enough Eomer’s familiar features would become sharp, his blond hair black and his dark and warm eyes grey, cold and mean. 

Grima Wormtongue had succeeded in owning her, taking away her emotions and even her soul. The flame that was burning inside her had extinguished, turning the proud White Lady of Rohan into an empty shell. 

Her greatest aspiration now was to die as quickly as possible, so that she could reach her loved ones, granted that there was a place somewhere where they could be together.  
Eventually, she found herself strolling helplessly at the top of the tall walls of Meduseld and a desperate thought tickled her tired and defeated mind. 

She climbed on the banister, careful not to trip on the green gown she was wearing that day (ever since she had come back from Isengard, she had refused to wear white garments. She felt as if such a puree colour did not suit her). 

A gentle breeze brushed her face, messing her long blond locks. The ghost of a smile danced on her thing lips for the first time since Eomer had abandoned her. 

She closed her eyes, welcoming the darkness surrounding her. It was a good darkness, one of those that allowed her to finally rest. A darkness where her _husband_ had no way of finding her, of hurting her. 

Then, she slowly stepped forward, falling into the void. 

-x-

Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli and Legolas reached the doors of Rohan, without daring to step in. They knew that the territory belonged to the enemy. However, the black vessels and the funereal chants did not go unnoticed by the Felloship. Right then, a knight of Rohan rode past them. 

Aragon could not prevent himself from asking: “Rider of Rohan” the man stopped and looked at the group. “What news from Meduseld?”. He did not answer right away, but kept staring puzzled at them. Of course, a man, an old wizard, an elf and a dwarf travelling together were not something you would see any day. Then he cleared his throat and replied: “It’s the funerals of the last heir of king Theoden, princess Éowyn. She threw herself off the highest tower of the palace”. 

As he spoke, the funeral procession appeared. A small, old man with jet-black greasy hair covering his pale face was leading the walk. Behind him, four men were carrying a litter where a corpse was laying, covered by a white blanket. Everything Aragorn saw was a fair hand, dangling lifelessly. She must have been very young, he thought. 

He then wondered what horrible things had happened to the princess that had led her to end her life in her own home. 

Still asking himself that question, he turned around and strolled away from Rohan, and from princess Éowyn, with his companions.


End file.
